Blood and Sand Trilogy Box Set

by Jon Kiln

  ‘Choices, choices…’ Ikrit did not sound particularly happy at all. For one, it seemed that their emotions meshed perfectly. ‘Now you’re thinking cosmically.’

  “Great.” Vekal, however, didn’t think that it was doing him any favors at all.

  27

  Elsewhere in the pirate galleon of the Red Hand, there was a similarly morose conversation taking place, this time between Aldameda and Meghan.

  “But you heard what that thing said, that it didn’t want to kill my little girl.” Meghan was clearly distraught as she sat, cradling her girl to her chest.

  “Well, I don’t particularly know how much faith we should put in what a devil tells us,” Aldameda said glumly, raising her head to look at the other occupants of the room. Talon was leaning against the bed of Captain Oberra.

  The uninfected humans hadn’t been returned to their own bunk rooms when Khoulash-Eremund had ordered them secured. Instead, they had been placed with the ‘other’ human on board, the once-Pirate Captain Oberra, still useless. It was nicer surroundings, Meghan thought disconsolately – but she was sure that had nothing to do with their comfort, and more just owing to the fact that the Captain’s State Rooms were the only secure place large enough to hold five human prisoners together without them getting into too much trouble.

  The room was large (as large as anywhere is onboard a pirate ship), with a wide bed home to the currently twitching, pale form of the captain. Aldameda sat at the writing desk, Meghan against the far corner on a stack of ships blankets, and Talon leaned against the bed. He’s really taken to the captain, Meghan saw, noticing how Aldameda’s eyes kept on moving warily to the young boy.

  She doesn’t trust anyone – not even her own apprentice, Meghan thought. She wondered if the old woman was right in her universal suspicion.

  Vekal. It had been him, and yet not-him at the same time. What was it that Aldameda had told her? That Vekal Morson, the last Sin Eater of the gods, had been possessed by one of those things that held them.

  Of course, she had known that. Or suspected it, at least. The herbalist had seen what he had been capable of, when the gang of Shattering Coast fanatics had come to attack her. He had shown incredible savagery, strength, speed – all things that his half-drowned, sleep-deprived, and near-wasted body shouldn’t have been able to do – and yet it did.

  Yeah, I knew, she sighed. Maybe it was her herbalist training, or maybe it was her many years spent living in the strange wilds of the south, but she knew that he was holding some evil sorcery inside of him.

  Only, now I know that it is a demon. The same creature that apparently Mother Aldameda and Talon had been fighting for a long time. Did that mean that Vekal himself was evil?

  “Are you going to kill him?” she murmured.

  “What?” Aldameda looked up sharply, looking deeply guilty as if Meghan had read her thoughts. “Kill him?” Her eyes widened.

  “Vekal. The priest,” Meghan said in a tired voice.

  “Oh.” Aldameda visibly relaxed. Strange, Meghan thought. Who did she think that I was talking about?

  “If I can,” Aldameda said with a nod, and there was an agreeing noise from the boy beside the bed.”

  “Talon?” Meghan shook her head in surprise. He still wasn’t old enough to harbor such dark, murderous thoughts, was he? “He saved all of our skins back there, remember?”

  Talon’s eyes were dark and shadowed as he bit his lip. “This is all his fault. Suriyen…” he whispered, before going quiet.

  “Who’s Suriyen?” Meghan asked.

  “Another Guide, like us. She lost her way and stayed back at the city of Fuldoon, in order to try and pursue some insane personal vendetta against Dal Grehb.” Aldameda frowned. “Foolish girl. If she had been with us, then this wouldn’t have happened.”

  “What was she, some sort of sword champion?” Meghan said dryly. She didn’t think that anything short of an army would have stopped what happened to them. She was surprised when it was Talon who answered her, in a fierce voice.

  “She was the best damn swordswoman in the south. And that is a fact,” he said fiercely. “And…she was my friend.”

  “Okay, I’m sorry,” the herbalist said a little more gently. This warrior woman was clearly dead. “When did she pass away?”

  Talon blinked. “I don’t know. But she was there to keep the Menaali out of Fuldoon. All ten thousand of them. She couldn’t have survived the attack, and she wouldn’t be alive if Dal Grehb was still alive. She hated him that much,” Talon said fiercely, and his youthful eyes shone with pride at the thought.

  Wow. The Mother here really has twisted your head, hasn’t she? Meghan thought in disgust but tried not to let it get to her features. All of these dreams of blood and mayhem and slaughter. You should be out there playing and working, not sharpening your grudges.

  Just like Kariss, she thought, looking down at her sleeping form. She was about to give her condolences to the boy, when there was a sudden rap on their door, and the sound of heavy bars being lifted. A moment later, two figures stepped in.

  Khoulash-Eremund, and Fatim. Or what had once been Fatim.

  The Mother Aldameda hissed at them, earning a knowing smile from the thing that now lived inside Fatim’s skin. All of the passengers here still had their hands bound and tied, even Kariss, but they were free to move their legs. It was by kicking and shuffling her legs that Meghan managed to try and shuffle away from them as they stalked closer.

  “Stop,” the devil inside of the smuggler Eremund said. “If we had seriously come here to hurt you, don’t you think that we would have brought better weapons than these?” He gestured to the daggers at his belts.

  “I’m sure your kind don’t need weapons,” Aldameda spat.

  “Coming from you, that is almost a compliment, Guide!” the devil laughed, nodding to Fatim. “Jartuk – make sure no one gets in our way.”

  The once-hobbled First Mate moved confidently and smoothly between Meghan, Kariss, and the others. “Let’s not make this difficult,” her voice came out garbled and guttural. The First Mate of the Red Hand was not the First Mate anymore.

  “What do you want with her?” Meghan snarled, as her child started to mumble and wake up from her dozing.

  “Mother? What is…” she went silent and her eyes went wide as she looked up into the grinning face of Khoulash-Eremund above her.

  “I keep explaining this to you. We’re not going to hurt you, little pretty,” the devil’s voice turned to sickeningly cute as he reached out a gloved hand and beckoned her to him.

  “Stay away!” Meghan tensed, but Kariss resisted her.

  “He’s not going to hurt me, ma,” the girl said, in that strangely clear voice that she used when she was speaking truth.

  “You’re right, I’m not,” Khoulash-Eremund whispered. “You should listen to your daughter more often, woman.”

  Meghan bared her teeth in disgust, as her own child gently shuffled against her, and started to scoot over on the floor.

  “Do your hands hurt, little one? Let me undo those binds for you,” the wolf in man’s clothing said, and Meghan tensed when he drew the knife from his belt. The entire room went quiet, all eyes on the man with the knife as he slowly moved around to the side, and quickly sliced through the girl’s bonds.

  “There, that better?” he said, and the girl nodded, her eyes wide.

  “I’m hungry,” Kariss said.

  “After, little one. After you have told me what I need to know – then you will get all of the food that you could want. Won’t that be nice?”

  “Untie my mother, too.” Kariss stuck out her lower lip stubbornly, and Meghan felt a surge of maternal pride. Even as young as she was, she seemed to tell that this was not a man being nice to her, but instead a negotiation.

  “No,” Khoulash-Eremund said. “Not until you help me.”

  “Then I shan’t.” Kariss resolutely crossed her hands over her small form.

  That’s my gir
l, Meghan grinned fiercely.

  “Then no one in this room, including you, will get any food,” Khoulash-Eremund said, just as matter-of-factly.

  “Why you…” Aldameda snorted, but Kariss only frowned, squinted her eyes and glared at the man for a moment, before nodding.

  “I’ll do it.” Her voice was small.

  “Wait a minute. What do you want her to do?” Meghan said quickly. “If you hurt her…”

  “Not this again, please!” Khoulash said with a sigh. “I only wish to ask the girl some questions. That is all. Simple questions, that will not hurt her, and that the Saint of the Age will be able to answer.”

  Meghan held her tongue, but she glowered at him.

  “Go on,” said Kariss all of a sudden, sitting down on the floor and leaning back against her mother with a thump.

  “There now.” The devil-man’s eyes glittered. “What I want to know, is…” he licked his lips. “Tell me about Fuldoon.”

  “What?” Meghan burst out. “The girl has never been to Fuldoon. How would she know?”

  “She will know,” the smuggler-devil’s voice was cold. He crouched down in front of the girl, his eyes taking on an obsessive intensity. “Ask your Guide, woman, she will know.”

  Meghan’s eyes flickered to Mother Aldameda, her hands still bound but leaning forward on the chair. Across from them, Talon was caught in the same worried intensity.

  “She will know, Meghan,” Aldameda said quietly.

  “But how? I’ve never taken her to the city!” Meghan said in exasperation.

  “Fuldoon, child!” Khoulash-Eremund hissed in an almost snake-like voice. “Tell me about the city! What is happening in the city of Fuldoon.”

  “Fuldoon…?” Kariss wrinkled her brow, looking confused. “That’s the city of traders, isn’t it?”

  “You see – she doesn’t know! Only what I’ve told her!” Meghan snapped, reaching for her daughter’s shoulder.

  “Tell me about the city!” the devil said more forcefully this time, and Meghan was just about to grab her daughter back from this accursed man, when Kariss suddenly straightened her back.

  “The city of Fuldoon is no more,” she said, her voice clear and high, and sounding calm. When her mother gasped and shuffled to look at her, she saw that her daughter’s eyes were clear and shining bright – just as they had been all of the other times that she had spoken true.

  “What do you mean, child?” Khoulash-Eremund gritted its teeth.

  “Fuldoon is not the City of Traders; it is the city of barbarians now. It shall be called Fuldoon-Grehb by its new regent-king,” the girl said.

  “Dal Grehb,” Aldameda breathed in awe. Even though she was a woman of mysteries herself, it seemed that the appearance of actual magic, or miracles, or whatever it was that Meghan’s daughter performed, was still strong enough to shock her.

  “So, the barbarian horde rules the city now?” Khoulash-Eremund smiled broadly and started scratching his chin.

  “He rules as all barbarians will rule: poorly,” the girl said in a tone that was far wiser than her years.

  “How many are under his command?” Khoulash-Eremund hissed.

  “Forty-eight thousand, eight hundred and twenty-five souls,” Kariss said clearly.

  “No, dammit!” Khoulash-Eremund shook its head quickly. “I meant how many soldiers, not including the civilians. How many soldiers does Dal Grehb have?”

  “Nine thousand, seven hundred and eleven souls.”

  “What, forty-odd thousand citizens and ten thousand warriors? Almost four to one odds and he still took the city, not bad!” Jartuk-Fatim grunted appreciatively.

  “Most of those civilians were too old or too young to bear arms, you idiot,” Khoulash-Eremund snapped, before considering. “But this Dal Grehb would make a fine devil one day.” His eyes flickered to the girl. “And tell me, how many of my kind are in the city and in Dal Grehb’s army.”

  “Four thousand, two hundred and thirty-eight,” Kariss said immediately.

  “Excellent.” The smuggler-devil was grinning broadly. “And how many surround the court of Dal Grehb himself?”

  “Just one: a devil named Marzu.”

  “Marzu?” Khoulash-Eremund nodded. “Even better. Even better indeed.” He looked up at the woman who had been Fatim and nodded. “Get our guests their food, Jartuk. They have performed well for us.”

  “What are you going to do to Fuldoon?” Talon surprised them all by bursting out.

  Probably because there is the slimmest chance that his friend Suriyen still lives there, Meghan thought, as she folded her child awkwardly with her tied hands. “Are you alright, little bee?” she whispered encouragingly into her daughter’s ear.

  “Uh-huh. Can we eat now?” Kariss said simply and in her normal, slightly husky voice as if nothing had happened.

  “Khoulash,” Meghan looked up and snapped at the man, her eyes still glowering. “Our bonds. How can we eat like this? We’ve answered your demands, how about rewarding us?”

  “A reward?” the devil paused by the open door, as Fatim stepped outside to pick up a tray laden with water, cold meats, bread and cheese. “Your reward is breathing. I’m sure you will find a way to feed yourselves. You humans always do.” He turned and slammed the door behind Jartuk-Fatim when she was done.

  “But the city!” Talon said in alarm, looking from Meghan to his mentor. “Why all of those questions about Fuldoon? What is he going to do there? Why does it want to know how many people live there?”

  “Isn’t it obvious, Talon?” Aldameda said. “You heard what that Greater Abomination said – the angels are coming after him. He wants to recruit more. Many thousands of more to use in the war against them.” The old woman’s face fell, and her voice lowered to a mere whisper. “He wants to make a city of devils.”

  28

  On the streets of the broken city, Suriyen who had once been the wall-captain of this place, trudged.

  She kicked broken cobbles from under her feet. She stepped lightly over the jagged and burnt ends of timber where the previous wave of Menaali had passed through. The city of Fuldoon did not look like a place that had once been the marketplace for the entire world. Any remnants of the many, multi-colored market stalls and traders yards had been pilfered and ransacked to the point of dust and degradation. Only scraps of cloths remained, fluttering here and there amidst the rubble.

  The air was still heavy with rock dust and smoke. The holes in the outer walls let the sand-laden winds in, and they mixed with the few smoldering ruins that still burned here and there throughout the city.

  This place hadn’t been the oldest, or even the finest place in the world, Suriyen thought sourly, but it had been the largest city in the southlands. And it had been one of the most well-traveled. Unlike the isolationist north, or the distant, almost mythical west, everyone had heard of Fuldoon. It was the place that you went to find your fortune, to buy the rarest of goods shipped from every corner of the globe. In its streets you could hear snatches of almost every language and dialect under the sun. It wasn’t a peaceful place – it had never been particularly well-ordered or well-maintained, but it was a place that thrummed with life.

  “Not anymore,” Suriyen muttered, kicking one of the stones out of her way. She was tired of this work. She was tired, hungry, and was in pain from the many scrapes and bruises of the task she had been put to. Her armored breastplate, shoulder plates and leg greaves had been stripped from her and sold or bartered amongst the horde. Her fine longsword that had served her so well and had seen her through many battles with evil men and evil creatures alike was now sitting somewhere in Dal Grehb’s own magnificent hut of spoils and war trophies. He had liked the look of that – it was fine Thranian steel, earned from when Suriyen had been a vassal-Knight to one of the Dukes of Thrane themselves.

  Instead, Suriyen who had once been a mercenary and a Guide by religion, was now reduced to the tattered cream and white linen rags that had been her tunic a
nd breeches. Only her heavy-toed and reinforced desert sandals had survived her incarceration. Never look down on good shoe leather, she remembered one of the sage bits of wisdom that her mentor the Mother Aldameda had given her.

  And what would you say now, huh, Mother? Suriyen groaned, stumbling in the dust. All that Chief Vharn had given her for this work was a staff, one made of stout and polished oak with several cross-hatched and beveled designs cut into the wood. It must have once belonged to some poor citizen who now was dead.

  Aldameda wasn’t Suriyen’s real mother, of course. But that is how the cult of the Guides operated. Every secret lodge had a Mother, and from that Mother flowed the orders and the wisdom of where the threats to the world lay, and how to counter them.

  Suriyen wondered if the old woman was still even alive out there somewhere. She can’t be, she reasoned. Aldameda was at least in her seventies, if not older – and she had gone off to the wild and dangerous Shattering Coasts to find the Lockless Gate and to kill one of the most powerful demons ever to be born into this world. The one that had inhabited the Sin Eater. And if she has failed, then the devils have opened the gate to Heaven, and the world has been turned upside down. The end times are upon us… She dawdled, kicking another broken cobble from the deep gouge of where a trebuchet-flung boulder had run its path through this street.

  Looking around at the collapsed buildings, the brown stains of blood splashed against the walls, the dust and the heavy miasma of battle clouds; the taste of ash in the wind, the sudden revelation of dead bodies behind every battered-down door – it was easy for Suriyen to think that it really was the end of times.

  “Hey! Back to work!” A sudden gruff shout, and Chief Vharn at the end of the street suddenly yanked on the rope that reached from his corner of the street, through the air to where it attached to the thick iron collar around Suriyen’s neck.